Solitaire
by Mechanical Orange
Summary: The life of a companion's child is more difficult than most.  Oneshot.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Doctor Who.

**A/N**: This is a oneshot dealing with the repercussions of a companion who has more than herself to look after. No specific doctor or companion is implied.

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><p>I remember my mother from when I was very young. She was kind, and she loved me very much. This I know for a fact.<p>

When I grew older I asked my father more about her, but he always said the same thing. "I loved her, but I was lonely sometimes." And when I asked him what he meant he couldn't explain it. But I think I understand, even if my memories of her are few and far between. And though they're memories of shared laughter and bright sunshine, they're always tinged with a sadness I can't quite explain. She smiled at me often, but her eyes were always looking elsewhere, and for what I'm not sure.

For one whole day I couldn't find her. I had the feeling she was always just ahead of me, around that corner or in that room. But by the time I arrived she had already moved on. It was a frustrating game of tag that was resolved that evening when I saw her in the kitchen peeling potatoes for dinner. I asked her where she had been all day and she hesitated only for a moment before replying, "I've been here."

My father wasn't around much either anymore, but I could always find him. He drank too much; he gambled too much, and he worked too much. It was only to distract him from the overpowering loneliness he felt at home. I did my best to be good, to not miss either of them too much; I didn't think I had a right to miss them. Even if they were gone, I wasn't alone. My mother was in the house if my father wasn't, but she wasn't _there_. It was hard for a child to understand.

The day she disappeared entirely wasn't so special. I didn't feel anything different; I didn't do anything different. She made me breakfast; I went outside to play and then I never saw her again. The police came later, but I knew it would be useless. They asked me about her and I tried to tell them that she wouldn't come back, that she disappeared long before this. They didn't understand. I think my father did though, because he ruffled my hair and sighed. "It's always been like this," he said. "Why would it change now?"

I was only six years old, but it had felt so long, like time had been playing tricks on me since the day I was born. Each day a week, each week a month, each month a year—my mother felt it most and her restlessness made each minute stretch longer. Once she disappeared time sped up and I felt thrown into young adulthood without any forewarning.

I look for her all the time now because that feeling is back, the one where she's just around the corner and I can feel her there, but she's always one step ahead. I can't catch up, but I follow her everywhere and my father knows this and hates this and doesn't say anything.

I trample through life in search of her, knowing that I'm wasting my time, my energy, on someone who'll never be found. As my father had said, why would it change now? But I keep going and suddenly I stumble into the answer.

It's here, I remember from when I was so young, in this field where rows and rows of sunflowers grow that this all started. She had taken me here for a picnic. She laid the blanket down in the very center of field; we were surrounded by tall golden flowers as big as my head. She smiled at me and said, "I have a surprise for you."

She walked away from me; the flowers hid her from my eyes and I began to grow anxious, but then she returned with the biggest sunflower I had ever seen. I know she was not gone long, but upon her return her eyes were distant and alight with something I couldn't comprehend. After that day we were all lonely, all detached from whatever had been holding us together. She was gone even when she wasn't and my father and I were made to watch, unable to understand.

So now I stand here once again, in the center of this field. The sunflowers are no longer as big as I remember, but I have grown and I have changed and to me each flower represents a day without my mother.

I fight the urge to pluck every single one from the ground and burn them, destroying this place where I lost what little happiness I had. I collapse in the center, fighting back tears when my hand brushes across something on the ground. I wipe my eyes and see that there on the ground beside me is the biggest sunflower I've ever seen. Its petals are the size of my thumb and the color of the sun on a cloudless day. The seeds are perfectly arranged in the center, each blacker than the one before. I pick it up and bring it closer for inspection. It's the perfect sunflower, like the one my mother brought to me that day. Too good to be real, too perfect to be of this world.

I hear a strange noise in the distance and someone calling my name.


End file.
